Anything But Brave
by RainThestral93
Summary: Hermione Granger has always had a little bit of a crush on Remus Lupin. But when a chance meeting in Diagon Alley results in an invitation to dinner, and the promise of a helping hand clearing up some of Ron's unwanted mess, what becomes when you throw a little bit of alcohol into the mix? What's to bet a certain lycanthrope has a few undisclosed feelings of his own...


**Disclaimer:** Some of you may notice some similarities to another story "Indecent Exposure" by angelically-devilish ... and that's because she's a great writer who really inspired this idea. It's not plagiarised and there's no ill intent, I recommend you check out her story because she's got bucketloads of talent - Thanks - Beth :) xx

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Hermione Granger, master of composure and remaining calm in the face of adversity, was stressed. She was at the point where she was considering wrenching her own lustrous brown hair out of her scalp, as a matter of fact. What had brought her to such a vexed frame of mind, I hear you ask? Ronald Weasley, that's what.

Slightly calmed by the knowledge that she no longer had to worry about the stacks of wizarding pornography – picture the muggle stuff, except it can move – and his dirty socks littering her bedroom floor, she was glad she was divorced. Three months since their split, and Hermione Granger was finally getting back on her feet again. Or she would be, of course, if it wasn't for the blasted cash register at Flourish and Blotts which kept going haywire every time she tried to ring up somebody's purchase.

The bushy haired brunette was on the brink of screaming in frustration when a gentle hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she whirled around, her wand at the ready, prepared to take on her attacker. Her mouth opened in shock, however, when she was met by the familiar face of none other than Remus Lupin. Hermione blushed and lowered her wand.

"Bad time?" The older wizard chuckled as he took in Hermione's frazzled state of being.

She wiped her palms on her jeans. "Oh, sorry," she nodded to her now lowered wand. "I was caught up in my own thoughts," she explained, and her old professor nodded sympathetically.

"Happens to the best of us," he smiled wryly, shooting her his shy half-grin that she wouldn't admit to anyone, but it made her go slightly shaky at the knees.

"Yeah," she smiled back, but then her face fell. "I just had an argument with Ron. I'm trying to clear out the house but he's refusing to move his stuff from the loft. I winded up trying to do it myself, but I knocked over a large stack of the boxes, and now there's his stuff all over the place."

"He still giving you grief?" Asked the werewolf, sympathetically.

"Yeah, you could say that," she shrugged, a little put out.

A smile tugged at the edge of his lips and she allowed a small giggle to escape.

"I know, I know, it's Ron, I shouldn't expect anything less. Still, doesn't make it any easier when I'm the one cleaning up his shit," Hermione sighed dejectedly. Whilst they were talking she'd shut up the tills and was now in the process of locking up the store. Thankfully, trading was done for the day.

"What was in the boxes that's been causing you so much hassle?" Lupin asked conversationally, noting as a colourful blush swept across Hermione's cheeks.

"It would seem every indecent wizarding magazine under the sun," she admitted, with yet more colour rising to her cheeks.

"You say what now?" Clarified Remus, amused at the younger witch's embarrassment.

"His porn collection," she admitted with a sigh. "Now all his magazines are all over my flat," she explained, with a grimace, and her conversational partner tutted sympathetically.

"Well I guess it could have been worse," the wizard grinned wryly, and Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," the older wizard shrugged, laughing. "It could have been Sirius' collection – I can assure you that that's got to be _far_more plentiful than whatever Ron's managed to get his hands on over the years."

"Oh I don't doubt that," laughed Hermione, "I hear Sirius had quite the reputation in his younger years."

"Hmm yes, I suppose the only thing that ever really slowed him down was being a convicted murderer," Remus chuckled.

"Hmm yes," Hermione mused, joking, "I imagine it's rather hard to pick up chicks when you're on the run from the law."

"And you would know, right?" Lupin bit back cheekily, warranting him a punch from the clever witch in front of him.

Remus Lupin had always admired the strength of Hermione's character, especially when she was faced with insurmountable odds, for she always seemed calm and collected in the face of adversity. That wasn't to say the young witch didn't have a temper, mind. Many a time the werewolf had been witness to her fiery rants, and he would be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her with her eyes aglow, her hair especially mussed up and her hands planted firmly on her hips. He wouldn't tell anyone that, of course, for they would probably not understand his attraction for his former pupil, and think it somewhat creepy, if they did.

The lycanthrope had an insubordinate amount of respect for the Gryffindor golden girl, and this compiled with his admiration of her fortitude, as well as the fact he rarely spent a moment in her company without dedicating a few moments of his "private time" to wondering curiously what she'd look like in the sheets of his double bed, writhing under his touch, made for an interesting dynamic in their relationship.

"Not that I'm not hugely grateful for your salvation from the hell that is my mind, but what on earth brings you to Diagon Alley?" The witch wondered, curiously, for Remus Lupin had always intrigued her.

"It's Tonks birthday on Monday, I'm looking to get her a present," he told her by way of explanation. Hermione nodded in understanding.

"What were you thinking?" She pried nosily.

Lupin scrunched his nose up in a bewildered manner. "What on earth does one buy an ex-wife who you're on relatively good terms with?" He wandered out loud, causing Hermione to laugh.

"I don't know, I've not quite reached the "good terms" bit stage with Ron, yet," she chuckled. "But jewellery is always a pretty safe bet. Want me to come with you to pick something?" The Gryffindor announced, her tone laced with some of the trademark bravado found in her former housemates.

Hermione looked up at the tall gentle man, and his knowledgeable eyes met hers with a kind twinkle. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, of course, but Hermione had always had a bit of a _thing_for her ex-professor. Ex-teacher or not, she couldn't doubt that she found him attractive, not only in the way that they were easily able to converse and laugh with one another, but he wasn't too hard on the eyes either; his soft features looked great under a little light, and his eyes were the wide romantic kind that Hermione favoured to squinty piggy ones (which reminded her of Ron, her ex-husband). He was in lean shape, Hermione knew, from the one time she'd caught him wearing nothing but a towel, on the rare occasion that he had stayed at Grimmauld Place. He was a real man, she realized, when perhaps Ronald Weasley had been nothing but a boy trying to assume the position of a man.

"Sure," he replied, nonchalantly, and then added, "It would be lovely to have some company." And there it was, he placed his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her down the street to an antique jewelers. Hermione was conscious of the feathery light touch in the small of her back and where his fingers grazed her skin she felt a pleasant burning sensation.

"What about this?" Hermione asked holding up a small silver-cast pendant with a colour changing stone. It was perfect for Tonks, really, given the witch's ability to change the colour of her hair at will.

Lupin beamed at her, taking the necklace to the cash register as he did, and Hermione's heart leapt in her chest. Hermione wasn't the only one nervous as they left the shop, and the old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor struggled to work up the courage to ask Hermione a question which he'd been sitting on, nursing, for more than a few years.

"What are you doing tonight, Hermione?" He asked, opting for a tone of casualness, yet coming out sounding more like a nervous school boy.

Her brown eyes widened at his question – he wasn't _asking her out_, was he? She thought, bemused. Maybe she really was going mad, she chuckled inwardly to herself.

"Just clearing up Ron's crap," she admitted, and then her voice took on a softer tone. "Why?"

"Oh, erm," Lupin began, his tone nervous, "I was just wandering what you were doing for dinner, that's all." He admitted, wringing his hands as he did so.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Well I've got a meat and potato pie in the oven at home waiting for me, but it's plenty big enough for two if you would be so kind to join me."

The man beside her beamed widely. "I'd love to, meat and potato pie and clearing up Ron's porn sounds like a date if you ask me," and then realizing how bad that sounded, he amended, "That is, of course, if you want my help?"

Hermione laughed merrily. She hadn't smiled in quite so long, since she'd finally kicked Ron out for cheating on her with the bloody wench, Lavendar Brown. "I'd be delighted to have your company," she smiled. "Is seven thirty alright?"

"Sounds perfect to me," he grinned, flashing her his trademark half-grin again, which was somewhere along the line of a Malfoy smirk and a Rita Skeeter cheesy grin.

"Great," beamed Hermione, "I'll see you then." And then Remus Lupin apparated, departing Hermione Jean Granger of his company.

A familiarly erratic owl was waiting for Hermione when she got home, and she happily fed Errol an owl treat as she detached the letter that was strung to his leg. She began reading, a scowl flitting across her face as she did so.  
_  
Hermione,_

Unfortunately Lavendar has fallen unwell with a stomach bug and has cast an enchantment which means I cannot leave the house so that I can be at her side for every minute of her pain.

If you want the boxes moved, I suggest you do it yourself. Oh, and I wouldn't open them, if I were you.

Ron

Hermione sighed, telling herself that she would kill Ronald Weasley if she was ever presented with such a chance. He'd never been one for a hard day's work in his life – she recounted his moans as they'd gone over Grimmauld place from top to bottom – and it was just like him to blame Lavendar for his lack of co-operation.

She slammed the letter down on the kitchen countertop, just as the oven went off, signaling for her to rotate the pie in the oven. She huffed, if she wasn't by far the bigger person, she'd likely send Ron a howler, proclaiming just what she thought of him. But she was far above that nonsense, she told herself, as she resigned herself to frustratedly scraping the peel off some carrots, so angry that she temporarily had forgotten that she could use her wand for such a mundane task.

As the doorbell rang half an hour later, it startled Hermione from her attempts to clear up the mess sprawled across her landing as a result of the upturned boxes, belonging to Ron. She wiped her hands stressed, having been so caught up in her housework she'd barely noticed the time and had time to change. She doubted that the cami top and jogging bottoms she was currently sporting were fitting attire for a first date, and she frantically tore into her bedroom, throwing on a pair of jeans a loose fitting bat-winged burgundy top. She scooped her hair up into a loose ponytail, hair falling either side of her face, and rushed to answer the door, no time for the application of makeup.

Brushing an errant curl out of her eyes, Hermione swung the front door open, taking in the sight of the wizard in front of her. He wasn't overdressed, Hermione noted, and she was thankful that she actually didn't have the time to make an effort – they were more fitting that way – yet he looked effortlessly handsome in his faded acid washed jeans, sneakers and a navy polo necked shirt. His sandy-brown coloured hair fell in locks that framed his face and completed his look. Hermione bit her lip.

"Remus!" She garbled, "Come in, come in," she stepped aside to allow the tall gentleman into her untidy – yet homely looking – home. He presented her a bottle of expensive looking wine and she made a fuss, saying, "Oh you shouldn't have!" He quirked an eyebrow and looked amused.

"It's not a problem," he grinned wryly, before wrinkling his nose. Having werewolf senses and all, that particular receptor of his was particularly on the ball.

Hermione blushed, embarrassed. "It's probably dust," she admitted, "I've not had a chance to clean in a while," she furthered, shrugging, to Lupin's amusement.

"I've never seen the point in housework myself," he grinned, and Hermione smiled as she led him through her humble abode.

They chatted amicably as he followed her through the modestly sized house – Hermione thought Ron was compromising for something when he bought it – and Remus laughed as he saw the collection of magazine splayed out across the landing. There was certainly more that was probably healthy for a wizard to possess, and he thumbed through a few older copies of the magazine with a bemused expression on his face.

"Merlin," he laughed, "This issue's from 1920, Weasley's got quite the collection here, that's not too soon after the first edition was released."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And how would _you_know when the magazine was released?" She remarked coyly.

At least Lupin had the decency to look embarrassed as he cleared his throat, "Ah, erm," he stuttered, choking on his words, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and within a period of time not very long at all, a sizeable number of the mass of magazines had been neatly stacked up in the newly repaired boxes. When you're in a situation when you're picking up pornographic magazines, there isn't really a lot you can safely talk about without causing suitable embarrassment on either side. So Lupin and Hermione stuck to the weather, hedging their bets that anything sexual would be likely to arise from such a topic.

Hermione struggled to tear her eyes away from the provocative stars of the magazines, which leant forward and blew Hermione kisses, not caring that she was a witch and not a sexually frustrated wizard. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She picked up a stack of magazines and a particularly weighty volume fell to the floor, sighing she picked it up and made to return it to the top of the pile. Before she did so, Hermione noted with horror that it seemed to be some kinky bondage edition. Her eyes widened as she took in the chains and the leather whips and the manner of different contraptions. She snapped the edition shut, as she realized Lupin was peering over her shoulder. He quirked and eyebrow at her.

"I didn't know you were into that kinky stuff, Hermione," He smirked devilishly. She blushed, attempting to stuff the magazine into an already over-flowing box.

"And how would you know what I'm into?" She quipped, more brazenly than she actually felt.

He shot up an eyebrow, questioning her challenge. "Oh I don't know, I can probably guess your type," he reasoned, "You know it's normally the bookish types that turn out to have the most sass in the bedroom, you know."

She laughed. Yes, she'd heard that a fair few times in her life time. "Enlighten me, then," she smiled, intrigued. "What's my type?

Remus Lupin paused for a moment in thought. "You're smart, so you'd only really be interested in someone with whom you can hold a satisfactorily intelligent conversation with. You're not shy to voice your opinion, so you'd probably be quite the dominatrix when it came to a romp in the bedroom," he noted, and a flush crossed Hermione's features.

"You're also willing to please, so I reckon you'd be a pretty good submissive, too. You're confident so you wouldn't like going out of your comfort zone, sticking to what you know best. You're passionate and fiery when you're argumentative, so I bet you have really good make-up sex. I reckon that your type is somebody who teases you both physically and mentally, somebody who can make you laugh and yet be deadly serious the next minute."

He took Hermione's silence to mean that his assumptions were correct, and he continued. "You pity those who are disadvantaged in some way or another, and detest inequality. You'd have no issue with race or background. You like a challenge and you don't settle for mediocrity. Your brain is constantly working and hunting for something different, something you haven't felt or experienced before. Am I right?"

"Not bad," Hermione chuckled. "Maybe you should consider a career in psycho-analysis someday."

Lupin laughed. "Somehow I don't think many people would be pleased to employ someone who takes a good few days off every full moon – they'd probably get me psycho-analysed myself!" He had a moot point, and Hermione laughed vivaciously.

"Fancy a break?" She asked, trying to shatter the building sexual tension that had surmounted on the landing. "I think this is a good a time as any for a tea break," she smiled, trying to put all inappropriate thoughts out her mind.

"Tea?" Lupin laughed, "Have you got anything stronger?"

Hermione's eyes lit up as she remembered the bottle of vodka she kept in a drawer in her kitchen for occasions such as these. "I might do," she remarked coyly as the duo made their way down the cream-carpeted staircase and into the kitchen.

She summoned the unopened bottle from a drawer as she and Remus sat down on the elegant metallic stools she'd purchased for the granite island. The kitchen had mostly been her input, and it was for this reason that it was one of her favourite rooms in the house. It reminded her least of Ron. She poured two generous amounts of the bitter liquid and handed Remus his lot.

"I suppose seeing so many breasts in one sitting certainly calls for a drink," Hermione admitted, holding her tumbler of alcohol aloft. She giggled, and after only a few sips of her drink, seemed quite utterly off her face. When her giggles turned to laughter, Lupin was infected, and he began laughing too. Soon, the duo was engaged in down-to-the-stomach belly laughs, and nothing could have snapped them out of it.

"What's so funny?" Inquired Hermione's ex-professor, curiously.

"Sorry," she laughed as she wiped away a few tears from the corners of her ears. "But being here with you, surrounded by porn and drinking booze just reminds me of the times I spent in a tent with Harry and Ron, hunting for horcruxes. Except Harry and Ron were usually half naked, and you're not half-naked," she remarked, rather bitterly, as the alcohol infused her usually very sharp synapses.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Well I could be if you wanted me to be," his trade mark half-grin making another appearance. He was too engaged taking another swig that he didn't notice Hermione's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. Lupin chuckled to himself at the current image he had of Hermione, Ron and Harry, prancing round a tent and acting like drunken teenagers, because that's what they were, teenagers. They'd been young when they'd taken on the dark lord, Voldemort, and had accomplished things which adults twice their age wouldn't have been able to. Remus heavily suspected that Hermione had been the brains of the operation, and that most achievement had been with credit to her – he doubted Ron and Harry would have researched the deathly hallows or brought enough supplies to last them more than a day, at most.

"So," Hermione began, conversationally. "You've tried to pin down my type. What's yours?"

Lupin chuckled, if only she knew. "What do you think my type is?" He wondered, genuinely intrigued. The budding witch conjured a pad and some pens and attempted a quick sketch. Drawing had never really been Hermione's forte, but as he glanced at the doodle, he got the general gist of it.

He blinked. The young witch had done a surprisingly good job, he mused, as he looked down at the sketch of a bookish looking witch, complete with glasses – probably to display her figurative intelligence – and stack of books. It looked remarkably like a certain brunette he knew.

"Not bad, Hermione," he smiled, having to hand it to her. "But my ideal witch looks a little more like this," he told her bravely as for the second time that day, he resolved to do something he'd been working up to courage to do for quite some time. He pulled a faded photograph that had been taken one summer at Grimmauld place. She'd had her head in a book, and although she wasn't the main subject of the photograph (Sirius was in the foreground pulling a bizarre face) it captured her essence perfectly.

Hermione gasped as she took in the pixelated version of herself, deep in concentration as she turned the pages of her weighty tome. Lupin's ideal woman was her?

"_That's_more like my ideal witch," he murmured, his breath warm against Hermione's neck as she fingered the photograph.

She was speechless, looking up at him as he leant over her, her eyes wide and trusting as she took in the scars on his face, which showed not only his age but also the trauma he'd experienced as a result of his condition. Being a lycanthrope was never going to be an easy life, Hermione thought bitterly.

"Really?" She managed, her voice sounding timid and unsure, the antonym of Hermione Jean Granger.

"Really. I know this perhaps isn't the best time, what with you and Ron –" and the older wizard found himself cut off from finishing his sentence as a pair of lips met his own.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut instinctively as her lips twined with his. She found herself standing up, being pressed up against the cool granite of the kitchen counter, and their lips explored one another, and hands wandered without so much a second's hesitation. Their tongues struggled for dominance, and she felt his breathing grow heavy as the desire for what had tortured him for so long became a reality. She practically melted like butter to his touch; she was putty in his hands, and she wouldn't be anywhere else, she sighed blissfully.

It had taken a lot of guts to make the first move. But Hermione Granger wouldn't be a Gryffindor if she wasn't anything but brave.


End file.
